


Brief Encounter Part 2

by 09cityskylights



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Gallavich, Ian/Mickey, M/M, Missing him, Realization, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/09cityskylights/pseuds/09cityskylights
Summary: Continuation of what the next week or so was like for Mickey after he said "Don't" to IanI was listening to the song ‘Brief Encounter’ by Dawn Golden (one of his other songs was on a Shameless episode during a Gallavich scene and actually the whole album is beautiful) anyways, it inspired this expansion on the first episode of season four, so I suggest listening to it after you read :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline might be slightly off from the episodes here, I condensed two scenes closer together for the story.
> 
> Also, for the last scene, who knew a masturbation scene could cause so many feels?!

For the first few days after Ian had left Mickey standing there in his bedroom, fighting to keep hot tears from actually forming, it was relatively easy for him to push away the thought of seeing Ian from his mind. They hadn’t seen each other every day before that anyways. For all he knew maybe Ian hadn’t actually gone anywhere. Maybe he was just saying all that shit about the army to prove a point. Mickey fucking hoped so, but he wouldn’t be the first one to cave. 

He would wait for Gallagher to come back around looking for attention, like Mickey imagined he would after holding out for a while. Mickey was at least ready to offer a gruff “sorry” for getting married to Svetlana, not like he had a fucking choice in the matter though. Why didn’t Ian get that? He had seemed to be under the impression that Mickey was getting married to intentionally hurt him. Terry was at least off his back now, satisfied with the belief Mickey was now living the straight life with Svetlana. Mickey had even taken off his crappy gold wedding band after Ian left that day, and his family either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

Hours rolled by and then days, more than a few, and Mickey couldn’t wait anymore. Ian was infiltrating his thoughts almost constantly, and he hadn’t reached out to contact Mickey. He knew Mandy wouldn’t tell him anything about Ian, she was probably still pissed off at his inability to admit to Ian that he cared in some sense or another. He would have to figure this out on his own.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He walked to the Gallagher house with his head tucked inside his hood, covering his dark and distinctive hair. The last thing he wanted was one of those damn Gallaghers noticing him canvassing their house. They’d probably think he was planning to rob them. What the fuck would he steal from that house anyways? 

Mickey sat on the hard curb a few houses down from the Gallagher home, on the opposite end of the street. He tapped grey ash from his cigarette onto the road while he waited, watching the door with sharp eyes. Finally it flung open, and the Gallaghers began bounding down the steps one by one, all noise and chatter, heading to school and Fiona to work, he figured. Unfortunately, the only redhead that came out of that house was the little sister, Debbie. 

Mickey drove the butt of his cigarette into the ground a little more forcefully than necessary. So Ian wasn’t there, maybe he’d gone to visit family or some shit. Go away for a few days until he wasn’t pissy anymore about the wedding. He’d get over it sooner or later. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The next day Mickey is sitting at the Milkovich table, pawing through stolen mail, when there is a knock at the door. No one gets up, or even really registers the sound. He cocks his eyebrow at Mandy expectantly until she finally lets out an annoyed hush of breath and goes to answer it. He turned his focus back onto the task at hand. Unbelievable how fucking stupid his brothers could be sometimes. 

They hadn’t actually brought home a single valuable letter from their mailbox raids. It didn’t help that Mickey was feeling exceptionally irritable today. From the lack of getting laid, he reckoned. He finished chastising his brother about his stupidity and turned his sour mood onto Svetlana when she entered the room, bitching about the money she wasn’t making. She wasn’t just a prostitute, she was a cheap one. Frankly, she had been nothing but a pain since she came into Mickey’s life.

His sister Mandy came sailing back into the room a few minutes after answering the door. Whoever was there hadn’t stayed long. “Who was at the door?” he finally asked, trying to lower his agitation by changing the subject. “Debbie Gallagher” Mandy answered quietly. She was very quiet and meek lately, when she was around both Kenyatta and Terry. Not like her to be this way. But Mickey had other things pressing on his mind.

“What did she want?” Mickey couldn’t picture why the little freckle face would stop by at the Milkovich house but her connection to Ian made him curious. 

“She was looking for Ian” Mandy said, her tone more direct.

“Seen him?” the words came out before he was ready for them, and his blue eyes flickered nervously in Terry’s direction. Luckily his dad hadn’t made the connection, or didn’t care, and was still draining his coffee cup. 

“Why do you care?” Mandy almost sneered, and he could sense the disapproval in her voice even though she was somewhat masking it for company’s sake. “I don’t” he said, albeit something about that statement felt slightly less than honest.

Mickey quickly turned his focus back onto the letters in front of him, feeling even more frustrated than before.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Mickey found himself at the Alibi just hours later, content with his decision to drink his bad mood away. He was complaining to Kevin, who ran the bar, about Svetlana’s shitty wages when he found himself unable to keep from asking the question. Kev was really close to the older sister, he spent a lot of time at the Gallagher house. He probably knew what the situation was.

“You heard from Gallagher?” he asked, his pitch unintentionally turning slightly upwards while speaking the last name. “Frank? No” Kev shook his head dumbly. “Not fucking Frank the other one, the red head”. His bad mood returned instantly as he tried to pretend he didn’t remember, or didn’t care about, Ian’s name.  
“Ian? No, he took off. What, he owe you money or something?” Kev turned his attention to the phone call he was answering, not really looking for an answer. Mickey barely contained his sigh. Fuck. Ian really was gone.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

More than a few drinks later, after Kev had finally cut him off from ordering any more, Mickey found himself standing outside of the Gallagher house again, but this time he was directly in front of it. His head was swaying slightly from intoxication. 

He then discovered himself at the front door of the house before he even realized that he had gone up the porch steps. He didn’t really know what he was doing. His mind was swirling slightly from the alcohol. He knew no one was back home yet, and his hand reached out to try the knob. Locked…easy to pick though, even while drunk. He had broken into houses with much better security systems. 

He did it quickly enough and stepped inside the house, leaning his weight against the door until it closed behind him. He was greeted by silence. And a fucking mess.  
Mickey felt a drunken hiccup push past his lips, and he sniffed. This was Ian’s house. He found himself picturing Ian walking through its rooms despite himself…laughing, smiling. In some weird way, he felt like he was looking for Ian. 

He headed up the stairs towards the bedrooms, gripping the old wooden railing to keep himself steady. He quickly recognized which room was the boys from the walls being plastered with various posters and the absolute mess of clothes tossed about the room. 

Jesus, they were all crammed into one room? He looked around and his eyes lingered on the one bed that was actually made up. Looked like no one had been in it for a while. Had to be Ian’s. 

A breathy sigh escaped his lips and he stumbled towards the bed, feeling drawn to it. He laid down on it gingerly. 

He gripped the comforter between each of his pale fingers. Blue material poked out between the tattooed “U- UP”, one letter on each finger. He breathed in deeply. Ian. The scent of him was calming, comforting in some way. He murmured something unintelligible into the pillow. 

Fuck. 

Why did it feel so right for him to be here? “God dammit” he finally says aloud, and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his head. What the fuck is he doing? He can’t stay here, there’d be no logical reason for him to be here when the Gallaghers returned home. He can just imagine that fucking conversation. He breathes into the pillow once more before he reluctantly gets up to leave. 

Mickey makes his way back down the stairs slowly, and pauses in the homey living room before he reaches the door. It may not seem like much to most people, but compared to the Milkovich house it feels warm and inviting. 

Something on the mantle above the fire place catches his eye. He spies a picture of Ian, and finds himself moving towards it without thinking. Framed pictures of all the Gallaghers are adorning the mantle, but he only cares about Ian’s.

Mickey picks up the cheap frame and holds it for a moment in his hands, staring at Ian silently for a long time, before he puts it back in its place as carefully as he can. More carefully than he would do if he was completely sober, but he was actually starting to sober up a little bit.

He looks around and notices a photo album sitting on an unsteady looking end table nearby. It’s jammed beside a lamp and resting on top of various old magazines and books.  
He flips through it slowly with deft fingers until he reaches a picture of Ian. It’s a recent one. Ian is flipping off the photographer casually, his bright red hair tucked mostly under a hat, a slight smile on his face. 

Mickey feels an unfamiliar ache in his chest and pulls the photo out from behind it’s protective plastic. Shoves it into his pocket without a second thought. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

That night, back at home, Mickey goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. He’s longing for the privacy he no longer has since Svetlana moved in.

He gazes into the bathroom mirror for a few moments, and pauses before he retrieves Ian’s picture from its hiding place. It’s carefully hidden in a stack of magazines beside the toilet that haven’t been read in years. Now that he’s sober, he’s not completely sure how he feels about taking it. He feels like it might be the most valuable thing he’s ever stolen, but he shakes the thought off quickly, uncomfortable with it's implications. 

He considers the photo for a moment, taking in the details of Ian’s face. He probably just misses getting laid, and some relief would be more than welcome right about now. He hadn’t been able to jerk off normally this past week at all. He had tried a few times but didn’t end up getting aroused enough to accomplish anything. Looking at Ian’s picture though, he feels a familiar stir and thinks this might work. Even though he’s alone he feels a little uncertain, and he hesitates before he reaches into his sweat pants and begins to stroke himself. 

He keeps looking up into Ian’s face, his emerald eyes. All of his features are so striking. In person, Mickey has never been able to so confidently look Ian in the eyes while they fuck. Arousal is not a problem now. 

He starts pumping himself with his hand more vigorously, but then starts to feel something else bubbling up inside of him, stretching out past the arousal. 

He wants Ian to be here, not his stupid fucking hand. He misses Ian. He doesn’t just miss being fucked by him either. The realization hits him like an anvil. He can’t hide from it anymore. 

He suddenly feels red hot anger directed at himself course through his already straining veins and he removes his hand from his dick and slams a fist at into his reflection in the mirror. The mirror breaks, distorting his image. Pieces of the mirror have cut deeply into his knuckles, drawing blood. He wants to yell FUCK YOU! at the face he is looking at in the mirror, he feels such hatred towards it. But it’s not Ian’s picture he’s looking at anymore. 

He’s looking at himself.


End file.
